The Hanging of Margaret Dickson by Alison Butler Page A

scoffs, hands on hips. With the back of her hand she wipes blood from her mouth.
    James bites his lip to stifle his amusement. ‘You must be losing your touch, Father,’ he smirks.
    â€˜I think not, son. Watch and learn,’ he places a finger to his nose.
    The room looks an almighty mess; the only thing Maggie wants is for them all to go home. She bangs on a table and shouts at the top of her voice, ‘The hen party is over everyone. Come and fetch a hen.’
    The women form an orderly line to collect a bird; it helps that the cooking is shared for the wedding feast, and Maggie is eager to get each and every one of them to take one home. First in the queue is Patrick’s old sweetheart, the one he had up against the rowan tree, Agnes Lecke.
    â€˜I haven’t got a dangle spit in my cottage, so there is no point me taking one,’ Agnes whines.
    Isobel pushes Agnes aside. ‘Hah! Trust you, Agnes. No matter, I will take two, Maggie. It’s no bother.’
    And so, as a cloud uncovers a half-moon in the starless sky, a line of women march up the brae from Maggie’s cottage. All but one of the women carries a hen in their hands. At the very end of the row, there is one man, Duncan, with a spring in his step and one arm around Mary Brock.

    ***

    At twilight on the next Sabbath, a childhood friend pays Maggie a visit, carrying a mysterious brown parcel under her arm. For the past year, Maggie’s friend, Alison Beutson has been employed at the local manse, probably to avoid working the fields (just like her). Maggie lets her in, ignoring her father and James gawping at the girl and her hessian bag.
    â€˜Aren’t you supposed to be at the manse, Alison?’
    â€˜Not on the Sabbath.’
    â€˜Oh, so what brings you here on your one day off pray? There’s not much going on here except mending stockings and spinning. Sit yourself down near the fire.’
    â€˜I wondered if you’d be interested in this.’ Alison sits down and unfolds the parcel. A beautiful amber silk dress spills out onto her knee.
    â€˜Would you look at that? Where did you get it? I could never afford it.’
    â€˜It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Alison pats the dress. ‘It looks bonny on me, mind, and I’m tempted to wear it – you know, for your wedding. But I’m not the bride, am I?’
    â€˜Couldn’t you sell it?’
    â€˜Aye, I thought about pawning it. It would fetch a fortune. But then I thought about all the questions the pawn man might ask me and so I daren’t, Maggie. He’d probably declare me a thief and have me locked up in the tolbooth.’
    â€˜Come on then, where did you get it?’
    â€˜Well, I was cleaning one of the spare rooms in the manse. On my hands and knees I was, minding my own business when I heard a rustling sound.’
    â€˜What was it?’
    â€˜A holy man. He was standing in front of a one of those looking glasses and he was admiring himself.’
    Maggie frowns. ‘Aye. Go on then, what’s so strange about that?’
    â€˜Hah. He was wearing this dress! Of course, once he caught sight of me he tore the garment from his body and ran stark bollock from the room. Can you imagine that?’
    â€˜You’re jesting.’
    â€˜Hah. I swear to God it’s true. A bearded man in a dress,’ she giggles.
    Maggie raises her eyebrows. ‘I can’t believe it. I wonder who it belongs to.’
    â€˜I don’t know. No one’s asked for it and the man with the beard’s surely not going to ask for it now, is he?’
    â€˜Nae, give us it here.’ Maggie stretches out her arms for the dress.
    â€˜I attach one condition to you wearing it.’
    â€˜Anything,’ Maggie smiles.
    â€˜I’m your chief bridesmaid.’
    â€˜Done.’

    ***

    Widow Arrock lives in a henwife’s cottage. It has the only indoor privy in town and is the envy of the whole of